


usually fine but never quite right

by tryslora



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Community: fullmoon_ficlet, F/M, Gender Dysphoria, Genderqueer Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-13 21:50:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4538712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jackson is fine. He’s <i>always</i> fine. The problem is, he’s not <i>right</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	usually fine but never quite right

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for Prompt #132 (Duality) at fullmoon_ficlet. My first thought on seeing this prompt was that I wanted to write a gender fluid character. I wasn’t sure how to approach it, asked for prompts on tumblr, and bdrixhaettc asked for gender fluid!Jackson and kanima issues, and this came out. I had a lot of things I wanted to say about this piece while I was writing it, but I think I need to just let it stand on its own. Everyone has a different way of handling their own gender identity; this is one view of a potential version of Jackson. As always, I do not own the world nor characters of Teen Wolf, I just like to play with them.

Jackson’s thirteen when he looks in the mirror as he does his hair and thinks _that’s not right_.

He frowns at his reflection, pushes at the hair and tries to make it into something _different_ , something that feels like he thinks it ought to feel.

He fails completely.

He sits through breakfast with his mother and father, squirming uncomfortably in the chair because he’s still not _right_ and it niggles at his confidence to feel _not right_. He knows who he is, but he can’t see it in the mirror today, doesn’t feel like himself, and they’ll _know_ when he gets to school. The whole point is to be more _yourself_ than anyone else, and how can he do that when the mirror doesn’t show the right person?

He nods when his father pats him on the head, tells him to do well in classes. He nods again when his mother murmurs that she’ll be back by the time he gets off the bus, she just needs to do this charity _thing_ and she’s so sorry to leave early in the morning and will he be okay getting on the bus by himself?

Of course he’ll be fine. He’s always _fine_.

Today he’s just not _right_.

He waits until their cars both leave, pulling down the long driveway to the street, before he goes up the stairs and into his parents’ room. He opens the door to the walk in closet and stands inside, eyes closed as he breathes in the scent of his mother’s perfume and the rich leather of good Italian shoes.

Almost right.

He calls Danny because he’s going to miss the bus, and he needs Danny’s mom to pick him up, give him a ride to school. If he doesn’t show up, his parents would be disappointed, and Jackson won’t allow that. Once it’s settled, he has _time_ and he can go slow, figure this out. Figure out how to make it _right_.

He digs through his mother’s things, finds a tiny clip on ear cuff that he wraps around the top curve of his ear, pulling his hair forward to cover it. He carefully puts clear gloss over his lips and shoves the tube deep in his pocket, then borrows a delicate gold chain that goes under his shirt, the open heart pendant just above the warm beat of his own heart.

He breathes in, lets it out slowly, and feels it slip into his skin. Better. Not perfect, but _better_.

#

Jackson demands new clothes, and of course, he gets them, anything he wants.

By the time he reaches high school, his closet has become divided ground: the pinks, lavenders, and corals shoved to one side, with the darker colors on the other. The jewel tones hold the middle ground, the days when he doesn’t know who he is and wants to straddle someplace _in between_ rather than pick a side. He has his own jewelry now, heavy chains for some days and delicate strands for others. His shoes come in Italian leather, or shades of bright sneakers in the latest brands, too _good_ and too _expensive_ for anyone to wonder why they’re a shocking pink.

It’s easier to breathe, easier to pick a style for the day, easier to feel right in his skin when he walks out the door. His friends talk about throwing on anything in the morning, and he doesn’t understand how it can be so _easy_ for them. Danny never seems to wonder who he is in the morning, never seems to spend a half hour trying to decide what’s _right_ for the day before dressing. Lydia says she lays her clothes out the night before, each item meticulously chosen, and that makes a sort of sense except Jackson never knows who he’ll be in the morning before he sleeps the night before.

He doesn’t seem to _fit_. 

But he tries, oh how he _tries_.

#

Danny tells him to relax, just be himself, just be whoever he needs to be. Jackson listens, and that’s what he tries to do. That’s what causes him to be almost late every day until he gets the Porsche. Those extra minutes spent putting on and taking off clothes until he finds the armor that feels right for the day.

Jackson starts leaving clothes at Danny’s place, because sometimes it feels good to borrow one of Danny’s shirt, to throw on his hoodie, and other times it’s just not what he needs for the day. Danny never questions the pile of clothes that slowly appear, the bright colors and hints of lace and the way they reflect the days that Jackson is more Jax than anything else. 

It helps to be accepted, to know that it doesn’t matter what’s _right_ for the day, he’s still Jackson and they’re still Jackson and Danny, and the friendship is always _right_ even when Jackson isn’t.

#

Jackson’s father is proud of his son. His only son, his best son, his perfect son.

Jackson turns the phrase over in his mind when his father says it, when his father pats him on the head, cuffs his shoulder, tugs him in for an awkward hug that Jackson refuses to return.

He doesn’t mind. His father wants a son, and it’s just a word, one that Jackson is okay with using if it gets him the approval that he craves. He knows he’s not a _real_ son, that they bought him when his parents died, purchased him like any other thing in the house was bought, brought home with accessories and raised to be _the son_.

He can be that son, be the _perfect_ son.

But he can also be himself, whether it’s leather or lace. Words are just words, after all; they have nothing to do with who Jackson really is.

#

He loves Lydia.

He loves her curves, her gentleness in bed that turns to equally fervent passion. He loves her lipstick, loves letting her paint his toenails even though he sighs as if it’s a hardship that he has to bear. He loves that she asks him to wear her clothes sometimes, that she might even see the girl who begs to slip free from his heart. 

He loves that she realizes that the girl isn’t all he is, that she appeals to the boy to hold her, fuck her, be an overbearing asshole yang to her yin.

She never says a word, never tries to make him make sense of it. She just lets him be, and seems to sense when the changes happen. He loves her wholeheartedly for that, loves that there doesn’t need to be language to define the thing that just _is_.

#

When the kanima comes, it slips into the forgotten spaces, the ones set between boy and girl, the ones that say _I love you no matter who you are today_. It gives him the ability to let go, to simply _be_ without wrestling with inner and outer image, it encourages Jackson to let the kanima become him, rather than him becoming the kanima. It takes on his shell, creates a self that is easy to choose each morning. It walks in his skin, just another self, just another wardrobe, and he lets himself slide beneath the dark waves, lets it subsume him because sometimes it’s easier than trying to figure it all out.

He doesn’t know who it is, what it wants. All he knows that it is another _thing_ another _him_ or _her_ or however the vocabulary works out (he hates the words for being so confining). In so many ways, it is easier, and it is accepted, and it becomes something that he doesn’t mind.

All Jackson has ever wanted to be is himself, and at the same time, he wants to be what everyone else wants. He has no idea how to put it together, and the kanima pushes him down, takes over so he doesn’t have to worry any more.

The first thing he realizes when he dies is that now he is now a wolf, too. Wolf, boy, girl, _Jackson_.

He still has to figure out how to go forward.

He still has to find a way to be _right_.

#

The morning after Jackson rises from the dead, he looks in the mirror, his hair in disarray from the night, and thinks _that’s not right_.

Lydia comes up behind him, still naked and soft and wet from the shower as she presses against his back. She reaches for a bright red lipstick that lies upon her vanity, holds it up and the image draws him in, staring at it in the mirrored reflection. 

He turns toward her slowly, lets her tilt his head and paint his lips with the bright color. She draws something across his eyelids, teases his lashes to fullness, brushes warmth against his cheeks. With every stroke, he relaxes, sighing into himself, tension slipping free.

“Preferred pronoun?” she asks, breaking the silence, and his breath catches. 

He has no idea how to answer. He is his father’s son, the supposedly _perfect_ son, and yet he is wolf, wears lipstick and smoky eyes, and he feels like his skin is warm and soft instead of crawling with anxiety.

“He,” Jackson finally says slowly. “But feminine today.”

“Borrow my blouse, wear your jeans.” Lydia turns away, pulling the blouse from the closet and tossing it to him. The silk against his skin makes him shiver, and he smiles at his reflection, pleased.

“It might be different tomorrow,” he warns her.

“That’s fine. We could be dead tomorrow.” She brushes a kiss against his lips, buttons her oxford shirt meticulously. “Live for today, Jackson. Be who you need to be today.”

And that… that feels _right._

Finally.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


End file.
